July 26, 1913 
FOREST AND STREAM 
103 
up here among the lakes and hills there’s no 
judge of the court, justice of the peace, nor 
constables, nor witnesses either, unless we tell 
on one another. I suppose there is one law fer 
the woods and another fer towns, but the only 
law I know anything about is the one of nature 
and conscience, so as I was standin’ there won¬ 
derin’ what to do, a dirty, ragged, little blue¬ 
eyed boy about eight year old stepped up and 
told the jedge that every word I had sed was 
the truth, fer he saw the whole disturbance. 
Then he told the story jest as I had done. The 
case was dismissed again’ me. Early next morn¬ 
ing as I was bucklin’ the harness on old Fan, 
gettin’ ready to start back home, I heard a noise 
behind me. I looked around and there stood 
the little blue-eyed boy who had pleaded my 
case. I ast him why he was up so early and 
why he wasn’t at home. He replied he didn’t 
have a home; had never known a father nor 
mother, and ast if he couldn’t go home with 
me. Well, boys, I never did a thing quicker 
in all my life than when I grabbed that home¬ 
less little cub and tucked him in my wagon. As 
we drove along somehow the morning seemed 
the most beautiful of any I had ever seen—so 
cool, so clear and bright, and such freshness on 
all things. The leaves on the -trees seemed 
greener and brighter, and the little forest flowers 
hed a richer hue. The birds never sang more 
joyously, and even the deep voice of the frog 
in the pond along the side of the road had a 
note in it I had never noticed before. I looked 
down on the little feller who was leanin’ heavily 
again’ my arm. He had not seen nor heard any 
of these things, but had fell asleep, and his 
bunch of dirty newspapers hed fallen from his 
dirty hand and lay scattered on the bottom of 
the wagon.” Jobes hesitated as he recalled that 
morning of long ago. The boys, now quiet and 
most attentive, drew their chairs closer to him. 
Jobes cast an affectionate glance at Seth, who 
had fallen asleep in the chair. Then he con¬ 
tinued : “Now, I know, fer I’ve seen how you 
all are regrettin’ the cornin’ of this woman 
among you. I brought her here to give the 
boy a chance. You know this country of ours 
hain’t got any chronic disease about it, and it 
can't do anything but march on. It will keep 
on marchin’ and improvin’ until God only knows 
where the outside line will finally be. I want 
him to be in a position to keep in the procession. 
Of course there’s a great many things preachin’ 
to him here as he wanders in the woods among 
the wild and material things, and though he 
can’t write out the sarmons they preach, yet I 
know lie’s all the time growin’ stronger and 
stronger in his faith and better in his heart fer 
bein’ here. I want him to learn a little of the 
law of legislation along with that of nature, so’s 
he can take up where I leave off. You don’t 
find any confusin’ or mixin’ up in the laws of 
nature or the things that exist in nature. They 
never rub again’ each other, but always work 
smooth and safe. I want him to learn the dif¬ 
ference. Now, my way of livin’ suits me, and 
all the wealth in the world, and all the learnin’ 
of the schools, wouldn't better my conditions, or 
make me any happier by day, or sleep any better 
at night. I'm rich because I'm contented with 
what I've got. I’m rich fer another reason—I 
live just as I want to live; just as I like to. 
I’m not denyin’, though, that wealth is a good 
thing for them that desire it, and wisdom is a 
great thing, too; but fer all that, rich men and 
wise men ain’t always happy men, nor their lot 
in life the easiest. A hard workin’ man accord¬ 
in’ to his ways can enjoy life just as much as 
a rich one. His food mayn’t be as dainty, but 
he has an appetite fer it, and that makes up the 
difference. His clothes mayn’t be as fine, but 
they keep him warm and that’s all a rich man’s 
can do. But if a rich man is happy in his 
wealth, and the great man happy in his great¬ 
ness, I think somebody is needed on the other 
side to make things balance, and I’m content 
to be that man. Still, I wouldn't have every¬ 
body like me either. The world would be in a 
bad fix if it was so. I’d like to see everybody 
go ahead everywhere. I’d like to see the whole 
world become wise, larned, rich, genteel and 
polished. I’d like to see good society pushed 
as far back into these woods as it could go, but 
there’d be a lot of fellers here who wouldn’t 
have it, fer as you know it takes all sorts of 
people to make up a world. You’ve got your 
place in it, and I’ve got mine, and I’m goin’ to 
stay where I am, because I like it, but as fer 
the boy layin’ asleep there—why, I want him 
to be a step or two above me. That’s my idea 
of progress.” 
Jobes rose from the old arm chair, stretched 
himself and started to leave the room. As he 
did so, Payne grabbed his hand and shook it 
firmly as he said: “Jobes, you have preached 
a better sermon than some I’ve heard from 
doctors of divinity. I think I speak for the rest 
of the boys when I say that we want to apolo¬ 
gize for our rudeness of to-night toward Miss 
Marvin. It will not occur again.” Jobes pressed 
Payne’s hand tightly and walked away. 
A week later everybody was getting ready 
for their departure from the little hotel where, 
after all, they had spent some delightfully pleas¬ 
ant hours. Buchanan had received a business 
message compelling his immediate presence. 
Payne had received a letter by the latest post 
assigning him to some important work for his 
paper, while Walker and Melvin, as poet and 
musician, decided to seek inspiration elsewhere 
for a time. 
• “I hate everyone going at once,” Job'es con¬ 
fided to them as he helped them into the wait¬ 
ing wagon. “It will be dull here without you,” 
and if Jobes judged by the warm and generous 
grasp of their hands, he could infer there was 
a little of the same feeling of regret in their 
own hearts. As they turned the bend in the 
road they met Seth who waved his hand and 
said: “Good-bye, and a smooth trail through 
life to you.” Little did the boy know at the 
time that lying back on the desk in the hotel 
office there was a long white envelope, the con¬ 
tents of which would make his own trail through 
life much smoother. They had each subscribed 
a certain amount that would carry Seth through 
Yale, thereby disregarding Jobes’ idea of hav¬ 
ing Miss Mollie Marvin come “into the enemy’s 
country” as a teacher. 
Rhode Island Game Laws. 
Only two changes were made this year in 
the game laws of Rhode Island. Partridge, quail 
and woodcock season now is the same as rabbit, 
Oct. 31 to Jan. 1, inclusive. The close season on 
Hungarian partridge and pheasant is to 1920. 
Dying Snipe “Grab” Also. 
BY WILL C. PARSONS. 
I was very much interested in Edward A. 
Samuels’ story, “How Wounded Ducks Are 
Lost” in your issue of July 5. Snipe also have 
the faculty of, when wounded, grasping some 
root or weed, should they fall near or into a 
stream and hanging there until dead. I remem¬ 
ber the first snipe I ever killed. He rose with 
a “scaipe” from a field of new wheat, and I 
pulled on him as he cork-screwed skyward. By 
more good wit than good hit, I grassed him, but 
a splash told me that he had fallen into a shal¬ 
low, clear streamlet. I searched for a long time 
before I saw the dead bird, his bill grasping a 
root. Plunging my arm into the cold water I 
grasped the little chap, and after gloating over 
his form and feathers for a time, I went after 
others. I didn’t get ’em, though. 
The next example was along the Scioto 
River. The bird flushed at the edge of the 
stream and flew diagonally across. I fired and 
the bird fell into swift water. It beat the water 
with its wings for a time, aiming for the shore 
on which I stood. Seeing me, he dived and 
began to swim under water to a patch of weeds 
below. 1 watched and saw him grasp a stalk 
and hold on. Wading out, the bird was gathered 
in stone dead. So much for snipe. Now for 
ducks: 
Several years ago I was in Michigan. Row¬ 
ing along the edge of the rat-tail reeds one day, 
three mallards flushed. I fired right and left, 
missing one, and dropping another in deep water. 
He made a splash like a falling brick, but scan¬ 
ning the ripples until they died away shore¬ 
ward, T failed to see my duck. Finally father, 
who was seated in the stern of the boat, saw the 
duck crawl out on the shore and creep into the 
underbrush. After searching for half an hour, 
we found the bird beside a wind-failed trunk, its 
colors blending admirably with the lichen-cov¬ 
ered bark. Indeed, if it had not been for the 
eye of the bird, we would never have found it. 
Several days later, and almost in the exact 
spot, a solitary drake jumped for the skyline, 
and I stopped him. He also hit with a splash, 
but search as I might I did not find him. A 
duck “dead as a mackerel” was found a day or 
so afterward floating, belly upward near the spot, 
and in his bill was grasped the root and stalk 
of a wild celery plant. Upon examination, it was 
found that the bird had been hit with No. 6's, 
and as I was the only one of the party shoot¬ 
ing that size shot, it is reasonable to suppose that 
I dropped him, and that the gases in the body 
caused the upward pull that brought duck and 
celery to the surface. 
An Appreciation. 
We desire to express our sincere apprecia¬ 
tion of your valued and most effective co-opera¬ 
tion in publishing in your issue of July 5 the 
article, “Feather Men Are Deceiving the Senate.” 
This, we believe, should do much good in 
the fight which we are making for the enact¬ 
ment of the plumage clause in the tariff bill in 
the form in which it passed the House of Repre¬ 
sentatives. T. Gilbert Pearson, 
Secretary National Association of 
Audubon Societies. 
